Something to Talk About(24)

Tipping her head to the side, Casey stared off into the distance. "I don't know, Ferrence...maybe."

"Well, good for you." He raised his glass. "To broken engagements."

Lifting her glass, she answered, "To best friends."

Ferrence grinned. "Won't Leona be surprised?"

"Oh dear, please don't mention Mother." She'd be apoplectic when she found out who Casey was setting her sights on.



Casey was late. Rip simmered, drumming his fingers on the console. He didn't want to contemplate all the reasons why she couldn't drag herself out of bed in time for work. "Probably a late night with Ferret," he muttered.

Brent started the countdown for the morning drive, when Casey rushed in, breathless and minus her usual stack of program notes. Rip looked for the signs of an evening's debauchery on her face, but was relieved to note her lips weren't swollen from Ferret's kisses, her cheeks weren't red from the scrape of his beard, and there were no telltale love bites-none visible anyway. If anything, she had the nerve to look rested and relaxed. Dr. Rutherford must not be doing his homework.

On the other hand, Rip was grumpy from lack of sleep. An image of Casey and Ferret, clasped in a naked embrace, had played out in his dreams repeatedly, until he'd given up on trying to sleep and went into work early, hoping to confront his co-host.

Brent mouthed, "You're on," through the glass from the production room.

Self-righteous zeal filled him. It was time for Casey to receive her just desserts. "Welcome to Something to Talk About, this is Rip O'Rourke..." He paused without looking over at her.

"...and Casey Cramer," she piped in cheerily.

"...on K-YAK 102.5 FM. This morning's topic of discussion is..." He pinned her with a glare this time. "...lies we tell each other."

Casey darted a confused look at him. "That's not what we're supposed to talk about."

Rip ignored her and focused his attention on the microphone. "Have you ever lied to your friends, coworkers or...lovers? When is it okay, and when is it not? Personally, I happen to think honesty is the cornerstone of any relationship. If you can't expect honesty from your partner, you can't trust him or her." Facing Casey, he looked directly into her eyes. "What's your opinion, Casey?" 

She shrugged. "I totally agree with you, Rip. Without honesty, you have nothing."

"Really? Mark that on your calendars, folks, Rip and Casey agree on something. Or at least, that's what she says. Let's dig a little deeper. When is it all right to lie?"

Casey opened her mouth to respond, but Rip cut her off. "We'll take the first caller."

"Hi, my name is Marty. I think it's okay to lie if it keeps from hurting someone's feelings."

"Could you give us a for-instance?" Casey prompted.

"Well, my wife came home after shopping with her mom and modeled a dress she bought. She asked me, "Honey, how does this look on me?"

"Ah...," Casey said, "...a loaded question. I take it, you didn't like it."

"How could I? It was the most god-awful shade of orange I've ever seen. My first inclination was to say, 'It makes you look like the broad side of a barn, hon.'"

"But you restrained that urge?" Casey asked.

"I'm not that stupid. I told her she looked like a rose."

"You're a nice man, Marty." Casey smiled. "If she felt pretty in it, what's the harm in a little white lie?"

"That was a good save alright," Rip commented, "but that's not the end of the story, is it?"

"Yeah, well it backfired," Marty admitted.

"How so?" Casey asked.

"She wears the damn thing all the time. She even wore it to dinner at my boss's house. His eyes just about popped out of his head when he first saw her."

"What did he say?"

"After he got through coughin', he said she looked as pretty as a garden in springtime."

Casey nodded her head in agreement. "I can understand your problem. Now, you can't go back and tell her it's ugly, because you already told her she looked pretty in it. There's no easy answer for that," she commiserated. "Good luck, Marty."

"Folks that's one of those little white lies that can take on a life of its own. But what constitutes a lie?" Rip posed the question. "Does a lie always have to be spoken in words? Would someone out there care to comment?" He went to the next caller. "Hi, Tony."

"Hey, Rip, I think a person can lie without saying a word just by the fact they didn't speak. Like when my ex-girlfriend didn't tell me she had genital warts until after we had sex."

Casey leaned forward. "Tony, that wasn't just wrong, it sounds down-right criminal. I whole-heartedly agree with you on that. Lying by omission is just as dishonest as lying with words."

"Humph," Rip responded, narrowing his eyes.

Casey raised her brows and pinned Rip with her stare. "Would you care to expound on that grunt, Rip?"

"Love to, Casey. Do you practice what you preach?" Rip's words were short and clipped.

"Of course," she said with a frown. "Why do you ask?"

"I think you know," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking an eyebrow.

Casey's frown deepened, and she drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Have you got a problem, Rip? Back up, dumb question. You've always got a problem."




       
         
       
        
"Yeah, I've got a problem," he said leaning toward her until their noses almost met. "Are you or are you not engaged to be married?" Rip didn't give her a chance to reply, but barreled on through. "Not telling people you're engaged constitutes a lie by omission."

Casey glowered, her cheeks red. "If you're going to ask me a question, at least give me the opportunity to answer it, Rip. For your information, it's not lying if you don't have any obligation to tell."

"I would think that when a woman kisses a man, she's obligated to tell him she's engaged to someone else," he shot back.

Casey squirmed in her chair then straightened her shoulders. "You're one to talk, Rip O'Rourke. Wearing a hidden earphone so you could listen to a basketball game throughout an opera isn't exactly truthful, is it?"

"It was the middle of the playoffs, and it was a Texas team," he said. "What'd you expect?"

"It was a lie just the same." She sniffed and lifted her chin. "I don't think this is the right place to discuss this, Rip. Can we continue the show?" Casey spoke into the microphone, "Listeners, as you can see, lying is a touchy subject. Perspective and perception play a big part in the interpretation of actions. You should always try to get all the information prior to drawing any conclusions."

She pressed a button to take the next call in the queue without reading the monitor first. "Would our caller care to comment?"

"Hello, Casey, this is Mrs. Stratton. What's this about a kiss?"

Rip sat back, feeling smug. The old tart wasn't going to let Casey off the hook either.

"Uh...it was just a 'thank you' kind of kiss," Casey explained, color staining her cheeks. "To thank Rip for a lovely evening."

"Your lips weren't saying thank you, Casey," Rip disagreed. "Does your fiancé know about that kiss?"

"For heaven's sake, it wasn't that kind of kiss."

"Then what kind was it?" Mrs. Stratton's annoyed voice piped in.

"It was just...a little kiss."

Rip couldn't resist a setup. "The kind you might give your brother or an aunt?"

"Uh...yes."

"Well Casey, I never slipped my aunt the tongue, and she never sucked on it," he said, smacking his palm to the console sharply to emphasize his point.

"You tell her, Rip," Mrs. Stratton egged him on.

"Rip," Casey interjected, her voice rising. "If the audience really has to know, I was just trying to catch you off guard." 

"Yes, folks. I was so 'off-guard' she had my pants off before I came up for air."

"Oooh! You know it wasn't like that. I was paying you back for having the nerve to wear a stripper's costume to meet my parents."

Rip grinned like a cat.

Casey's little chin jutted forward, her lips pouting.

"Admit it, Cramer. That kiss was off the Richter scale."

Casey fumed. If looks could kill, he'd be fried to a greasy spot. "The earth did not move," she bit out.

"Kiss her, Rip," Mrs. Stratton's voice shouted over the airwaves.

Spurred on by the need to prove the fire rushing through his veins was a mutually shared phenomenon, Rip leaned over the console, grasping her face between his two large hands. "I think I'll do just that." As he pulled her to him, her eyes widened.

Rip tightened his grip and slammed his lips against hers, then spearing his tongue into her lush, wet mouth, tangling and teasing until she moaned.

"Folks, that silence is the sound of Rip O'Rourke kissing the socks off of Casey Cramer," Brent said from the production room. "Would anyone care to comment on the budding romance? When you hear the click, you have five seconds to comment."

"Go for it Rip," a male voice shouted over the radio.